


Velocity

by softreset



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: LOTS of self indulgent liberties taken oh man!, Not Beta Read, Probably a little bit OOC, Slow Burn, additional tags will b added as i go, but also not slow burn at the same time, gonna do my best to keep reader gender neutral, please forgive any slip-ups!, reader is probably coded as being mentally ill LMAO but i'll do my best to keep it lowkey, you'll see!! you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softreset/pseuds/softreset
Summary: in the process of being rewritten;ve·loc·i·ty/vəˈläsədē/nounthe speed of something in a given direction."the velocities of the emitted particles"Nishinoya Yuu doesn't know how to slow down.
Relationships: Nishinoya Yuu/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	1. before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of funny that my first (published) hq fic is abt noya considering suga is my #1

Nishinoya Yuu is a sun.

He’s so bright— blinding, even— that you don’t know how you went so long without being drawn to him, let alone without noticing him. He’s warm, too; it seems like every room gets a little bit lighter, a little bit kinder, a little bit more welcoming when he walks in. His intensity is fascinating, his laugh infectious.

You are a moth drawn to a flame.

(You think, privately, that Nishinoya Yuu might burn you.)

(You don’t think you mind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> stick around; hopefully new chapters soon.
> 
> ( ´ ▽ ` )


	2. wildfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter! trying to get back into the groove of writing longer (and, frankly, less vague) pieces. it’s been a while.

He meets you.

He meets you before you meet him, because he’s always been one to initiate. He slams his hand down on your desk with a bit more force than is necessary, and you twitch a bit at the sound. His smile is dazzling. You almost smile back.

Nishinoya Yuu is not shy.

He introduces himself— one hand still on your desk, the other pointing at himself with his thumb— and practically _sparkles._ “I hear you’re good at English,” he says, and you blink.

“I’m okay.”

“Don’t be modest!” he crows, and his hand moves off your desk to adjust the strap of his bag. “I’ve seen you during class. You barely even take notes!”

“You’d be good at English, too,” you point out, standing up and shouldering your bag, “if you spent more time taking notes and less time watching me _not_ take notes.”

He bounds after you, unfazed, as you pick your way out of the classroom and down the hallways. He keeps up easily, somehow, despite the sea of students pushing around each other to get outside. “That’s fair, I can’t argue with that,” he says, “but, also— don’t you think it’s a bit late for that? Exams are coming up pretty soon—”

“I thought you weren’t going to argue,” you say, dodging a group of rowdy first-years. “Exams aren’t for a good month and a half.”

“—and I was thinking, maybe, _since_ they’re coming up so soon—”

You step outside into the early-evening air and take a deep breath, and he darts out in front of you, hands on his hips.

“—would you maybe be open to tutoring me?”

You blink again.

“Not for nothing,” he says, almost wavering for a second. “I can pay you— maybe not a lot, um, money-wise— but in food?”

(Nishinoya Yuu stands there in front of you, backlit by the evening sun, and he looks like he’s glowing.)

“Okay,” you say simply.

(You think, privately, that you might come to regret this.)

His reaction is immediate. He brightens _(he’s so bright already— blinding, bright, dazzling Nishinoya Yuu)_ and you look away on instinct. Somehow, Nishinoya Yuu’s joy seems like a private thing, as infectious as it may be. Somehow, it seems like you’re intruding. Somehow, it seems like you shouldn’t be allowed to see it.

“ _Thank_ you, you’re a lifesaver,” he says, and he goes to grab your hands. He grins up at you where you stand, transfixed, on the concrete step in front of him. His eyes glimmer. You wonder if you should look away.

He squeezes your hands quickly between his own, and he disappears as fleetingly as he arrived. Volleyball practice, he says, and thanks you again. You don’t get to respond before he’s gone, cheering and calling to the skinhead from Class 1. They vanish, together, into the club rooms, glowing all the while.

(Nishinoya Yuu is a wildfire that spreads. You wonder, privately, just how flammable you really are.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	3. black hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting into the swing of things!

“And this— what is this, a metaphor?”

You lean over from your seat in the quiet, dusty library to read the line that Nishinoya is pointing at. _Our teeth and ambitions are bared,_ it reads. You remember, vaguely, hearing it in The Lion King when you were younger— _was it an original line in Hamlet? Shakespeare did love being indirect—_

(You miss the way he watches you, brown eyes intent, glowing where the sunlight hit them. Glowing like two burning stars.)

“No,” you say heavily, shifting back into your seat. “It’s a zeugma. It’s a figure of speech that, like, connects two different… ideas or concepts in a sentence, but usually in two different ways. Like—” _(you furrow your eyebrows in concentration, and he watches, he watches)_ “—‘The knight won the queen’s tournament, and her favor’, or something. It’s like a… literary double-take.”

Nishinoya nods fervently, scribbling down notes in his chicken-scratch handwriting. You don’t know how he can read it, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You’re doing your job and getting your food either way.

 _Speaking of,_ you think, checking the clock mounted on the far wall behind Nishinoya, _it’s getting late._ It’s 5:30 already; school had ended two hours ago, and although you hadn’t decided how long each session would last, you didn’t really feel big on the idea of being a second cram school.

(You aren’t sure, after three sessions, that you’re big on getting too close, either. Every black hole was a sun once, and you think Nishinoya Yuu is more than capable of dragging you in.)

His voice and the soft _whump_ of his notebook closing snap you out of your thoughts.

“Hello? You there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you reply, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. (Sometimes, you notice, Nishinoya Yuu glows so bright that it’s hard to look at him.) “What did you say?”

He looks at you strangely, and part of you wants to snap at him. But you don’t. (Part of you thinks you don’t know how.)

“It’s getting late.”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t followed through on the whole _paying you_ thing, yet.”

“Yeah.”

Nishinoya puts his hands on the desk between you, looks at you intently, leans forward the slightest bit. “Do you want to get meat buns today? As, you know, the payment?”

You must have taken too long to reply, because Nishinoya leans back a bit and adds, “It doesn’t have to be meat buns. Whatever you like.” He rubs the back of his neck almost embarrassedly. “As long as it’s under, like, 2,000 yen.”

“...Yeah,” you say, then curse yourself for sounding so lame. “Yeah, sure. Do you wanna—?”

He stands up at the same time as you (his smile is hard to look at, the brightness hurts your eyes), already dumping his books unceremoniously into his sling bag. “I have practice, um, right now,” he says, fiddling with his hands. “So maybe—?”

“Do you wanna meet up at—?”

“Or you could come,” he offers, almost tripping over his words. “Watch, I mean. I’m sure nobody would mind.”

He’s smiling again, but this time with an uncharacteristically nervous strain of energy. He’s buzzing, bouncing on his heels. Somehow, it makes him brighter.

“I don’t know much about volleyball,” you say— slowly, carefully. 

“You don’t have to,” he replies quickly. “I just figured it would be less boring than waiting and doing nothing.”

You stand there in silence for a few moments, in the dusty golden sunlight filtering through the windows you’d sat by, neither of you daring to break the silence. The only sound was the muffled _thump_ of a librarian reshelving a few rows down.

Nishinoya starts to speak again, visibly a bit deflated. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean—“

“Okay,” you interrupt, against your better judgement. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Nishinoya Yuu brightens instantly, and you have to fight not to squint. “Really? Great!” he starts, reaching out for your hands the way he did that day on the concrete school steps. “I think you’ll really like the team, and I’m sure they’ll like you too, they’re all really fun—“

He keeps babbling like this as he picks your books up (ignoring your halfhearted protest) and holds them to his chest; as he leads your way, hand in hand, out of the library; as he opens the door for you and introduces you, one by one, to his teammates. You shake some of their hands, and wave politely at the others. You even exchange short pleasantries with Ennoshita Chikara, who you remember from middle school. The early evening sunlight shines through the gym’s tall, high windows, and somehow, it feels like the beginning of something.

(For the next three hours, you watch Nishinoya Yuu play, and you wonder how long it will take until he burns out and drags you in.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the urge to put awkward teenage dialogue into everything i write... where does it come from...
> 
> as always, thanks for reading!


	4. supply closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this....one chapter....is longer than all three of the ones before it combined. i'm reeling. i can only see them getting longer. what have i gotten myself into?

It’s almost nine at night when the volleyball club stops practicing.

You rise and stretch from where you sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor. At some point during the evening, one of the balls had rolled over to you, stopped a few centimeters away from your knee. You’d picked it up absentmindedly, set it in your lap, and leaned on it.

(You’d watched Nishinoya as he raised a hand to you apologetically— it had been a bit of a sloppy receive that’d made the ball bump against you in the first place— and flinched as he immediately got nailed in the face by that freckly first-year’s serve.)

You watch him, now, as he chats with the skinhead ( _Narita, Narita,_ you remind yourself) and pushes a cart around the gym, collecting the stray balls. (He lobs one at the back of Tanaka-san’s head but misses and hits Azumane instead— he laughs until Sawamura berates him.)

(You try not to feel out of place.)

Someone calls your name and you snap out of your thoughts, volleyball pressed between your hands. The gym was mostly cleaned up, the team crowded together and fooling around by the doors. Hinata— you remembered his name, at least— must have said something to piss off the first-year setter, if their roughhousing was any indication, and you can see a muscle in Sawamura’s jaw working. Sugawara pats him on the shoulder.

You hear your name again, and you look over to where Nishinoya is still standing with Narita by the supply closet. He motions to your hands, and you realize, finally, that you’re still holding the volleyball. Right. Everything had to be put away before they could lock up and go home.

You nod at Nishinoya and start jogging over. You try to ignore how he beams at you and shoos Narita away, try to ignore how he calls to the rest of the team to _go on ahead! we’ll catch up._ You try to ignore the way he waves them off when Tanaka says _you sure?,_ and you try to ignore the way he holds the supply closet door open for you.

(You try to ignore the way he’s always uncharacteristically quiet when he watches you, like he’s planning his next words. Like he’s trying to be careful.)

“So,” he breathes. You don’t look at him; you focus your attention on slowly balancing the volleyball in the cart. “How are you?”

You almost drop the volleyball. “What?”

He’s fiddling with his hands, the same way he did in the library. If it wasn’t for the darkness of the closet, you’d almost think his cheeks were a bit pink.

(You push that thought aside. You know better than that.)

“I just— was wondering, you know,” he says. “We didn’t keep you too long, did we? I know we all kind of lose track of time—”

(He’s fiddling with his hands, and he’s avoiding eye contact. For some reason, it makes you feel uneasy.)

You remember how he held your hands before, and hesitantly— reassuringly, you hope, but hesitantly— you reach out to do the same. (Almost immediately, you regret it. It feels wrong to be the one initiating.)

(Almost immediately, he looks at you. He has that intent, black-hole look in his eyes again. You have to close your eyes to steady your breathing.)

“You didn’t keep me too long, Nishinoya-san,” you say. (Part of you hopes the honorific will help you keep your distance, but you push that thought aside, too.) “If I wanted to leave earlier, I would have.”

You let go of his hands and open your eyes. He’s beaming again, and even in the darkness, it feels too bright to look at directly. “Good,” he says, and he sounds really, truly relieved. “I’m glad.”

You stand there in silence for a few moments until you hear Ennoshita’s voice _(“if you don’t come out of there soon we’re gonna lock you in, come on!”)._ You turn away from Nishinoya and start towards the closet doors, the beginnings of discomfort forming in the pit of your stomach, but freeze when you feel fingers brush against your wrist.

“Just Noya is fine,” he says, and joins the rest of the team, already shrugging on a jacket and throwing jokes back at them. You follow him, a bit dazed, and stand in the doorway.

Sugawara sees you come out and offers you a smile; it’s all you can do to offer him a weak smile in return. The team is still crowded together, still laughing and pushing each other around. Sugawara rejoins them after he locks up and pats your shoulder reassuringly. You stand there, transfixed, on the concrete step.

They start walking, and Nishinoya’s voice snaps you out of your trance.

“Hey! You coming?”

He sounds cheeky— sounds _bright_ — again. It’s nothing like the quiet nervousness of the supply closet. You almost wonder if you’d imagined it, hearing him sound like this again.

“What?” you say lamely, and curse yourself. Most of the team is still walking, not having noticed, but you see Ennoshita waiting a few meters behind where Nishinoya and Tanaka stand. Watching, waiting.

(The better part of you tries not to take it as a challenge.)

(The better part of you fails.)

“We’re going to the coach’s store,” explains Nishinoya, and you tilt your head a fraction of a degree. “I still have to make good on paying you back, don’t I?”

“Oh,” you say. “Oh. Right, yes. I—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” he teases, jogging back to you.

(You try to ignore how much you like the idea of it. To you, to you, to you.)

(You push the thought aside.)

“Of course not,” you decide to joke back, however weak. “I didn’t stay three hours for nothing.”

He grins up at you where you stand (transfixed, transfixed) on the concrete step. “Aw, it wasn’t for me?”

“Of course not,” you repeat. He gives you a fake pout, and somehow, it’s just as bright as his smile. 

(You shut your eyes and steady your breathing.)

“Come on, then,” he says. He takes your hand in his for the second time that day— third, if you count the supply closet— and leads you back to the rest of the team. 

(Ennoshita isn’t watching anymore, but he gives you a knowing look. You pointedly ignore it. He smiles and goes back to his conversation with Tanaka.)

(Nishinoya had let go of your hand when you’d caught up with the others, but as you walk with them— slowly joining in the conversation, slowly opening up, slowly starting to laugh along with them— your knuckles brush against his.)

(That night, in the nine-p.m. darkness, their voices ring out— all bright, all glowing.)

(That night, in the nine-p.m. darkness, walking with Nishinoya Yuu, it starts to feel, again, like the beginning of something.)

(You could get used to this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading!


	5. stray grain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know !!! i know. it's been a hot minute since i last updated. hopefully, though, i'll speed back up!
> 
> i've been planning out a few other, less canon-compliant fics, though, that you might be seeing soon, as well— but until then, please enjoy this chapter!

“Hey, catch!”

Tanaka lobs you a plastic-wrapped onigiri, and you narrowly avoid it hitting you in the face— for once, your reflexes do you good— and you look over your shoulder to see it in Ennoshita’s hand. He offers it to you, silently. You take it.

Tanaka yelps and curses softly, and he looks like he means to make his way over to you. Sawamura catches his attention, though, and it’s all he can do to call a distracted, if not genuine, apology to you. You wave him off. You don’t think you mind.

The night air is crisp and fresh, even under the soft fluorescents of Sakanoshita Store. You’re familiar enough with the layout— the store is close enough to the school to warrant short, lonely sneak-out adventures during your break—, and even if you weren’t, you think you’d have a hard time feeling uncomfortable here. For whatever reason, Sakanoshita Store feels… almost _homey._

You’ve never seen it so _full,_ though. Usually, when you slip off of Karasuno’s grounds on your solitary adventures, the store is quiet but for the hum of the lights and the clinking of the cash register. You hardly exchange words with Ukai-san, though he seems friendly enough. It’s comfortable, easy, a soothing routine. Step in, nod. Pick something, pay. Nod, step out. It’s familiar.

This, though— the store full of rowdy teenage boys, pushing and laughing and making snide remarks— is uncharted territory. Azumane counts everyone’s choices. Sawamura leafs through his wallet. Sugawara passes the crinkling plastic packets around and relishes tearing into his own. The second-years (bar Nishinoya, who is talking up Shimizu-san, and Ennoshita, who is decidedly not talking up you) wrangle the first-years, who look on the verge of civil war.

The team— a shifting, living, breathing beast in its own right— moves together as one. Intentionally or otherwise.

(Privately, you kind of like it. Privately, you think it’s kind of beautiful. You stand by Ennoshita, quietly chewing your onigiri, and watch.)

“So,” he says. (Somehow, you recognize that so. Somehow, you think you know what’s coming.)

“So,” you repeat wryly, folding the corner of your nori.

“Noya, huh?”

You focus on a stray grain of rice poking out of the mass, hanging on by the nori. “Yeah.”

Ennoshita takes a bite out of his meat bun. He doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him. Quietly, contentedly, you watch the team. 

It’s kind of nice.

“Is it, like, a casual thing?” he asks, and you have to take a second to process.

“Oh. We’re not—”

“Ah. So—?”

“Tutoring.” You press on the stray grain until it sinks in with the rest of the onigiri.

“I see.”

You settle back into that comfortable quiet. Tanaka and Narita are dragging the first-years — Kageyama and Tsukishima, you think their names are?— apart. 

“Is Kinoshita-san egging them on?” 

Ennoshita squints in the group’s direction— and, sure enough, Kinoshita is leaning on the counter with Sugawara, hands cupped around his mouth and cheering. You think you hear Sugawara call out _“get him!”, _but you aren’t sure if it’s to Kageyama or Tsukishima.__

“Holy shit,” he says disbelievingly, but not humorlessly. “He is. Enablers, the both of them.” 

The sight of it makes you chuckle a bit, unexpectedly. Ennoshita looks at you in disbelief, now, but breaks into laughter himself. 

Privately, you kind of like it. 

Your laughter subsides, and so does his. He sighs and takes a sip from a can you remember Sugawara passing to him earlier. You take another bite of your onigiri. 

“Do you wanna wait outside?” he asks, and you nod. “I’m kind of getting a headache.” 

He holds the door open for you, and the two of you slip out— quietly, unnoticed. You settle on the short stone wall, and Ennoshita sits next to you. He offers you a sip of his drink. You take it. Orange soda. 

“I don’t remember you being all that into volleyball in middle school,” you say to him, passing the can back. “What changed?” 

Ennoshita tips his head back and watches the clouds, dark in the 9-p.m. sky. “Ah… I’m not sure, really. I guess I just got tired of stagnating?” 

You nod in understanding but don’t answer immediately. Ennoshita tilts his head to watch you out of the side of his eye. 

“I left the team for a while, you know,” he says conversationally, and you furrow your brow. 

“Why? They seem good for you.” 

Ennoshita breathes out a short laugh and smiles. “Yeah. I just… wasn’t ready for the commitment, I guess?” He shakes his head. “I kind of regret it.” 

You feel like you should say something— like there’s a tension in the air that hadn’t been before— so you do. “You’re here now, though, right?” 

You watch Ennoshita carefully. He smiles again, ruefully, at you. 

“Yeah.” 

“I think that’s all that matters.” 

Ennoshita studies you for a moment, then shrugs. The tension eases. You keep yourself from breathing a sigh of relief. 

“I guess so,” he says with a stretch. Your onigiri is done, and so is his meat bun. He yawns and picks up the can, shaking it from the top for a second to check if there’s any soda left. There isn’t. He stands and motions for you to give him your plastic wrapper. You do. 

You sit in silence for the few moments it takes for Ennoshita to walk to the other side of the store entrance, drop your trash in the wastebin, and walk back. It’s hard not to stare at your hands. It’s harder not to think of all the _holding_ they’ve been doing lately. 

Ennoshita walks back and stops a foot away from you. He looks thoughtful, like he’s going to speak, but the creak of the door opening interrupts him. 

“Looks like they’re all done,” he remarks. You nod. 

“Looks like it.” 

The golden fluorescent light spills out onto the asphalt, unbroken and unsoftened by the sliding glass doors, and the team spills out about the same way. (Bright, glowing, beautiful.) 

“Ennoshi- _ta,_ ” complains Tanaka, a joking lilt in his voice. “I can’t believe you left me to deal with those monsters myself. Wild animals, all of them!"

“Tanaka,” says Narita pleasantly from behind him, “you were just as bad last year.” 

“I know, but it’s worse now that I have to deal with it—!” 

“You barely helped—!” 

“I don’t want to hear anything from you, Hisashi, you were _cheering_ —” 

You listen to the second-years bicker, and— for once— you don’t try to hold back your smile. You can’t help it; it’s nice, and part of you wants, in some defiant way, to believe that you have a place in it. So you smile, and you don’t jump when Nishinoya slides up beside you, and you don’t pull away when his knuckles brush against yours. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes glinting. 

“Hey,” you reply. 

“You’re smiling,” he points out. 

“I am,” you agree. 

(Nishinoya doesn’t mention how bright it is, nor does he mention the blooming pride he feels for you despite only really having known you for two weeks.) 

The rest of the team trickles out of the store and heads their separate ways, calling goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows, and you’re left alone with the second-years. You walk, and slowly, slowly, they disperse, too; Kinoshita and Tanaka, at the nearest bus stop, then Narita and Ennoshita (who gives you an encouraging smile and a nudge of the shoulder) at a crossroads under a maple tree. You’re left alone with Nishinoya, who seems, for all his bluster, content. 

(His glow, now, is soft and comforting, like the warmth of a hearth after a cold day.) 

“Do you have anyone to walk you home?” he asks, even though the answer is obvious. 

“I’ll be okay, I think.” 

“Are you sure? I’d feel bad if I didn’t.” 

You hesitate, and if he notices, he doesn’t mention it. “I wouldn’t be opposed, it’s just— shouldn’t you be getting home?” 

Nishinoya grins, and his glow brightens just a bit. “Worried about me?” 

You roll your eyes and start walking. “Never mind. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t follow me.” 

“Aw, no—!” he laughs, and starts a light jog until he falls into step beside you. 

“Hey,” he says (almost cheekily), leaning forward. You pointedly avoid eye contact. He doesn’t stop staring, though, and you break. 

“Hey,” you reply, and his grin widens. 

“I didn’t know you knew Chikara,” he says, hands sliding into the pockets of his windbreaker. 

“Yeah. We were… friends? I guess, in middle school.” 

“Huh. Did anything…?” 

“No, we just drifted apart." 

“Huh,” he says again. You lapse into silence for a few moments before Nishinoya speaks again. 

“Are you… coming to practice after the next session, too?” 

You glance at him. “Do you want me to?” 

(You pretend not to notice the faint red tinge rising in his cheeks.) 

“I wouldn’t be _opposed,_ ” he parrots at you, rubbing the back of his neck the same way he did in the library. _Was that really just a few hours ago?_ you wonder. It feels like it’s been forever. 

You feel what you think is bravery— or maybe it’s nerves— rise in your chest. “I will, then,” you say, and Nishinoya _beams._

“Great, I’ll let the others know tomorrow, then!” 

You lead him to your door and hop up onto the concrete step. When you turn back towards him, he’s waiting— watching you with that black-hole look in his eyes again. You have to blink the brightness away. 

“When should we meet up next?” he asks you, and you adjust the strap of your bag. 

“Ah… Tuesday?” you suggest. “If you want to keep it to twice a week, I mean.” 

“I’d love to go for more, but— you know— the team,” he says apologetically. 

“Don’t— um— I understand.” 

“Tuesday, then?” 

_“Don’t be late.”_

__

__

Nishinoya beams at you, bright enough that you almost worry your neighbors will complain about the lights shining so intensely at such a late time of night. “I won’t.” 

Nishinoya leaves with a friendly wave and you step inside, closing your eyes to steady your breath the moment you hear the latch click. 

_Middle school, the field by the younger kids’ playground, Ennoshita tossing a ball to himself up in the air. “Sorry I’m late,” you’d said to him, but he’d just grinned and caught it._

_“You’re here now, though, aren’t you?” he’d asked, backlit by the afternoon sun._

_“Yeah.”_

_“That’s all that matters, then.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading!


	6. an update

hello hello! 

so. i’m sorry for leaving y’all high and dry. the semester took quite a bit out of me, but! i am on winter break, finally.

unfortunately, over the course of said semester, my standards for my own writing have gotten a bit higher. this means that, as of right now, _Velocity_ doesn’t meet those standards. which is why i am currently in the process of editing/rewriting the existing chapters!

the main plot will remain the same, if not for some revisions made to strengthen it overall.

i’ve also got a few other ideas in the works that i haven’t had the time to expand on. hopefully, they’re coming soon.

don’t worry, i’m not giving up on this fic.

love you all, and i’ll see you soon!


End file.
